I give you turbulence, soft phonation,absolute jitter. Tadpoles in vocal folds of their father, yellow and red cross-noggins shooting in all directions from white space: that's my voice on computer printout,

record of me with electrodes over the larynx and magnifying glass on the tongue, climbing scales in diphthongs, leaping the octave's cliffs and shifts of fallwhile the mulberry pearls

of vocal chords, viscous and tensile, flex like a mollusc, buzz like a pink queen bee. Your muscles should be fast as trampolines. Your voice is your breath. The first thing that's yours, and the last.